


APH Rare Pair Week 2018 Collection

by Lotus_Dumplings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week, APH Rare Pair Week 2018, Ficlet Collection, M/M, So is everything else tbh, oneshots, romerica is beautiful, shine bright, this is fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 00:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16923138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotus_Dumplings/pseuds/Lotus_Dumplings
Summary: Day 1- Cooking(EngIta)Day 2- Music(Romerica)Day 3- Night Sky(GerAme)Day 4- History(PrUK)Day 5- Myths and Legends(SpaIta)Day 6- Snow(GerPan)Day 7- Run Away With Me(SpaAus)





	1. D'Angelo Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing stuff like this. I'll try not to offend any shippers!

Feliciano wasn't sure how, but in his absence, Arthur had managed to break a ladle, get flour on the floor, spill milk all over the counter, drop the salt and pepper, and haphazardly put some ingredients on the stove top. Steams of smoke were raising up as a result, and Feliciano bit his lip to avoid either laughter and crying over his kitchen. Honestly, he wasn't sure.

"Uh, hello love," Arthur smiled. The smoke detector went off. "... Surprise?" 

Still not entirely sure what to do, Feliciano said, "Artie, what exactly were you trying to make?" 

"Angel hair with tomato cream sauce." Arthur had opened a window and was trying to get the smoke out. He wasn't doing a good job. Feliciano smiled—he could never be all that angry, could he?

"Need help?" 

Arthur smiled back, face flushing red from embarrassment. "Yes, please."

Once the kitchen had been cleaned up and the alarm finally stopped, they started over, Feliciano taking the lead. 

"That's the expensive olive oil, use the other one."

"Are you absolutely sure we don't need flour?"

"Don't cut yourself, caro!"

When they finally finished, Arthur had seemed lit up with pride, and Feliciano couldn't help but giggle. It wasn't exactly the surprise Arthur wanted, and it wasn't really anything special in Feliciano's case, but they made it together. And call him sappy, but that's all that he thought really mattered.


	2. Dance Between Time

When Lovino Vargas was dancing, he was the most beautiful man on the planet. At least, that's what Alfred had always thought. 

He had a certain passion for music that was so rare in a person, but Alfred loved every moment of it. When he danced, Lovino's usual sour expressions dissipated into nothing but a fog as he smiled brighter than the Mediterranean sun. He had the grace and rhythm and energy of a muse and left his lover absolutely smitten. 

The days when they were younger, always out somewhere, dancing in each other's arms were now a distant memory. But neither ever forgot. Hell, Alfred could promise on his mother he would never forget. Especially not when Lovino came home, exhausted and subconsciously humming the songs they danced to not so long ago. And Alfred couldn't help but take the man he loved into his arms. 

He barely understood how it happened, but Lovino pressed himself against Alfred, too tired to refuse. And they hummed together the music of the past, lost together, traveling back into another time. They remembered the steps, the music, each other. 

And Lovino smiled. A tired smile, but it was the same smile Alfred F. Jones fell in love with all those years ago. Foreheads pressed together, they danced together for what felt like an eternity. For together, they had no bounds.


	3. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. Every entry after 2 was late. Oops.

Every person who ever knew Ludwig Beilschmidt knew he didn't like breaking rules. Rules were made to be followed, nothing was made to be broken. It was simply unorthodox to think any other way. That's why, despite having learned long ago that he had no respect for the rules, he was both angry and worried when Alfred F. Jones came knocking at his door three hours past curfew. 

"What are you doing?" Ludwig whispered, trying not to raise his voice. "If you're caught out of your dorm we'll both get in terrible trouble." 

But Alfred's wide grin didn't falter a moment. "I wanna show ya something!" 

"What would you possibly wish to show me thirty minutes to midnight?" Ludwig asked. 

"I can't tell you, not now," Alfred said, practically glowing. "You gotta come with me!"

"What?!" Germany nearly shouted. After looking down the hall or anyone who may be watching, he continued, quieter. "I can't. You know the rules. We could get suspended."

"Oh come on, dude," he groaned. "Do you have a single rebellious bone in your body? I'm sure you can break the rules just this once, right? For me?" 

To say it wasn't tempting would be a lie, even with Ludwig's strong will. It was a long battle, as Alfred was possibly one of the most stubborn people he'd ever known, but Ludwig eventually gave in with a sigh. 

And that's how Ludwig and Alfred ended up in an old tree house, who knows how far from the school house, looking out of a makeshift window at the stars. 

"I found it a couple days ago. It's old and nostalgic feeling," he laughed. "Thought maybe you'd like it." 

Ludwig turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"No. I just wanted an excuse to hang out without anyone else around." 

"You could've just said that," Ludwig muttered. 

"Yeah, well," Alfred sighed., "I'm not exactly the most vocal. Plus, I'm alone in a treehouse with a hot guy. Seems like a win to me." 

Ludwig quickly looked back to the sky and bit his lip—face flushed. He did like the old treehouse. It reminded him of the old days, before he got whisked away by school and responsibilities. When he could relax more and do stupid shit like this. When he was more like Alfred? 

The aforementioned boy was nearly entirely out the window, pointing out little constellations he recognized, or stories his older brother told him about the stars. Ludwig smiled. Maybe breaking the rules wouldn't be so bad if he got to see Alfred smile like that every time.


	4. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this angst? I don't even know what qualifies as such.

Prussia had been through a lot of transitions in his life. From his beginnings as a rough child forced to wield his sword, to his time as an overly religious Catholic knight, to his Protestant age as a modest priest, until finally he became the militaristic kingdom he was now. Yet, it seemed as if England had never changed. 

England always been... England. Prussia simply couldn't understand how someone centuries old, nation or not, could avoid becoming something different. Even so, every time Prussia and England met, the former had changed ever so slightly, and the latter had stayed the same, and this time was no exception. 

13 August 1788 was both a relief and a worry to Prussia. Anglo-Prussian relations we're stable, but England as a person was still sour over his colonial lose, the lose in which Prussia had aided. And while the Triple Alliance would include Netherlands, the treaty was purely Prussia and England. 

Prussia knew the best way to win back favor in political situations was to listen and handle all arguments or disagreements with a straight face. But England was different somehow, and this wasn't political. It was a personal matter as far as their relationship was concerned, and unfortunately Prussia was bad with emotions. 

For example, he'd expected England to insult him or yell at him. He hadn't expected the silent treatment. It was troubling, and if they couldn't talk, both their human and nation relations would plummet. Something had to be done. So when everything important was being handled by their respective representatives, Prussia pulled England aside.

"England," he to mustered, voice set calmly, "we need to talk." 

England raised an eyebrow. "What's there to talk about? We have a treaty, politics pull us together as usual, and you seem to be particularly arse-ish this time around." 

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"No," England cut off. "You're not. You regret nothing." 

Alright, so England wasn't wrong and, to a degree, had reason to be mad. But he wasn't about to give up, or his name wasn't the goddamn Kingdom of Prussia. 

"It was in our interests as a kingdom and a colony. You need to let go." Prussia said.

"Fuck you! I can't afford to let go!" England grumbled. 

"Why not? You're over a thousand years old, you need to act like a mature adult." 

"You're going to tell me to be a mature adult when your only reason for this damn treaty is to get territorial gains!" By this point, England was shaking in anger, and Prussia knew he needed to start thinking before speaking. He sighed. 

"I'm sorry you've been hurt, but I'm not sorry for helping America," he said slowly. "I believe everyone has a time when they need to be let free, and I empathized with the boy, especially after taking my time under Poland into account. It was never my intention to hurt you. I care about you." 

Prussia had changed. He'd matured a bit, but he also realized seeing England hurt had hurt him. Badly. And despite his trouble with displaying his feelings, the tried to sound and look as sincere as possible. This wasn't about politics, it was about a human relationship powered by human emotions.

"I-" England started, before cutting himself off. "Just, give me some time." And with that, Prussia was left alone with his thoughts.


	5. Of Gold and Sea Foam

When Antonio Fernàndez Carriedo started his life at sea, he'd been optimistic. It was a new beginning for him, somewhere to start over. And, to him, the ocean was the perfect opportunity. Ever since he was a child, he fell in loved with the beautiful ripples of water and the sound of the waves. He had loved tales of famous privateers and their victories against the Dutch and English. Just the idea of being one with the ocean left him feeling an inexplicable happiness. 

Though he never really meant it like this. Surrounded by water, being pulled down into the darkness, and vision slowly beginning to fuzz, Antonio realized how ironic it all was. However, as he began to wonder if people would laugh at his fate, he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

_"You need not worry, human. I've got you."_

And that's when Antonio knew he was going to die. 

This had to be one of the Lord's angel's, here to grant him passage into another life. How else could he explain the warm smile that made his heart flutter, the soft hands that pulled him along carefully, or the gold eyes that dug into his soul? He could barely see, but he knew only an angel could be so beautiful. 

Antonio was set softly against the sand, though he didn't seem to realize. His savior ran their long nimble fingers through his wet hair. They smiled softly down at him with delicacy and care, as if admiring a work of art. His stomach fluttered. 

And he could see it. The angel. They wore white robes with golden trimming and bore no shoes, but it was they're full lips, they're vibrant hair, and they're piercing eyes that had really caught his eye. 

Then the panic was started to set in. His heart began to race and his fingers clawed hopeless at the sand. Questions—millions at a time—had started to fill his mind. 

But the angel shushed him, gently caressing his face. The touch made Antonio shiver and a wave of calm washed over him. He watched they're parting lips with a deep inhale, and soon, a soft sound filled the air. 

And, with a foggy mind, he began to drift off into the world of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah btw Feli's a sea nymph


End file.
